


from your lips

by evenmyneck (stopmopingstarthoping)



Series: Hope's Kinktober 2020 [8]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Premature Ejaculation, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27043519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/evenmyneck
Summary: Marianne's sweet praise, spoken and unspoken, gets quite the response out of Lorenz.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester
Series: Hope's Kinktober 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948084
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	from your lips

She is alabaster, she is birdsong, she is the sharp beam of sun that blinds him at the horizon of his dawning desire. 

His face is buried in her neck and her sweet voice struggles to be free of her chest. She is bared before him, and the curve of her breasts pulls at the center of him; his palm hovers in question.

“Please.” 

It’s no more than a breath, but it is enough. He lowers worshipful lips to a blooming pink nipple. 

“Oh, _Lorenz._ May I--can you?”

He pulls back, just slightly, without straightening up, and looks up at her. He is at her command, and she knows it. 

“More….it’s so good, my dear.”

The praise, quiet as it is, rolls through him in a deep thrill. He listens to the quiet strains of music that her body makes, even as his own is deafening in its demand. She trembles, and he slides a palm behind her back.

A careful thumb traces a peak, and his lips return to the impossible softness at the swell of her pale breast. She presses into him, and this wordless approval is almost better than her voice.. 

Almost.

Slow traces of fingertips, soft lips against softer, velvety, plush breasts. He tries pressure, movement, and notes her response. She’s quivering in his arms, and he strokes down her side as if to calm her. Her quick grasp at his fingers and bitten lip make his smile deepen; it is not nervousness, then, that makes her muscles shake.

A bright pink flush sweeps up her chest, and he continues to worship. His tongue slips out, testing, teasing, and her voice catches, a sharp sound that hooks somewhere deep in his belly. Lower.

The feel of the hardened nub under his tongue is intoxicating. She falls back onto the bed, gasping, and he follows, slow and easy.

A quick kiss to her stomach, and he returns to his prize; Marianne’s other nipple has simply been straining into cool, empty air. This will not do.

Her back arches under him, and he throbs, hard, as his body answers the soundless call of her own. He _will_ master himself; will please her long before he thinks of himself, that is certain, but it does not halt his wild thoughts of losing himself in her sweetness. The desires of his fevered mind and his tightened trousers will wait, but they will paint wonderfully tantalizing and torturous pictures in his mind while they do.

His tongue works over her nipples, lapping, swirling, until her hips plead up against him; he will give her anything she wants, and his mouth trails lower. 

Her beauty is as apparent here, and as he strokes gently through pale-blue curls, he sees the glistening evidence that she wants him, that he is pleasing her. 

His tongue curls forward to touch her, and the gorgeous noise that escapes her pale throat cannot be surpassed. Her fingers find his hair and hover lightly, until Lorenz opens his mouth wide and savors her. It's gluttonous; he immerses himself in her taste, her scent, this retreat between her thighs. 

Her fingers curl against his scalp and tug; it's as close to wildly insistent as he's ever seen her and he dives forward more. 

Every time his tongue traces her folds and she moans, every time he sucks at her sweet clit and she wails and grasps the bedsheets, he gets harder. Her praises sing through his muscles and lap down the sides of his swollen cock. Her gasps ghost around its purpling head. 

The beautiful song of Marianne’s sighs, the clutch of her fingers in his hair, the rock of her hips, and her sweet, sweet words, broken on the peaks of her pleasure, fill him. His name; the word “love”—is it an endearment or an expression? either is wonderful—they fall from her lips like rain onto the upturned flower of his heart. She tenses, and relaxes, and tenses again, breathy sounds sawing at his heart like the delicate touch of a violin's bow. She grows overly sensitive, and pushes his mouth from her glistening folds even as she settles beneath him.

But it is the words “yes,” and “good” that make Lorenz’s moan answer hers into the smooth trembling flesh of her thigh. He wanted to wait; wanted to curl himself around her and care for her while her breathing slowed and feel those brown eyes warm him.

But his body is a runaway horse; and Marianne has flung off the reins. He grinds his own hips downward, finding pleasure in the pressure of the bed, and closes his eyes. Her voice changes, and he thinks she’s picked her head up to look at him, but he’s not sure. He dare not open his eyes. He is hanging on by a thread. Her fingers caress his hair again.

“You’re so good to me, Lorenz. Such a wonderful lover. I love the way you make me feel.”

A white-hot shaft of pleasure darts into a very specific place in his mind; he could chart it after this, if she so asked. The dam bursts and he grips her thigh as it washes over him; the refrain of her name pours from his throat in answer to her; and he can hold back no longer.

He ruts into the bed and gasps against her skin; she continues to caress him with simple, affectionate words as he shudders and bucks. He’s making such a mess in the pretty sleep pants; she made them herself—his thoughts are drowned out by the final tremor that rocks through him when she speaks again.

“Oh, you’re lovely when you do that, Lorenz.”

Her words dance down his spine and ripple through him. A strained gasp is his only answer, for now. 

He is...not ashamed, but perhaps disappointed at not fulfilling some of the pictures that had flashed through his mind, both today and on so many other days.

“I apologize; you are so beautiful….” He sits up, a sweaty mess, caressing Marianne’s own damp strands from her forehead.

She gives him a puzzled look. “Did it feel good?”

He lets out a breathless laugh. “Darling, yes. I simply wanted to—” 

Bold in her flushed satisfaction, she places a slim finger against his lips. “For next time, then?”

He touches her hair. “You’re perfect. For next time.”

“Or the time after that?” She giggles as he sweeps her close for a deep kiss.

“Or the time after _that_ , even.” He’s recovered enough to arch an eyebrow in Marianne’s direction, and the soft glow between them fills the air.


End file.
